


All Hands Against His Own

by whiskyandoldspice (Itsirtou)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, Evil Sam Winchester, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsirtou/pseuds/whiskyandoldspice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam finally breaks, Dean does, too.  (Set in Season 4.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Hands Against His Own

“So,” Ruby says. “An angel brought Dean back, huh.”

Sam lifts his head up from Ruby’s arm with effort, coppery tang strong in his mouth. “Don’t,” he growls. He still feels raw inside, scraped bloody, every time he hears Dean’s name. He doesn’t want to hear it on Ruby’s lips. “I don’t want to talk about him now.”

Ruby blinks. A slow smile spreads across her face. 

“Okay, baby,” she says, soothingly. “Okay. We don’t have to talk about that.” She offers her arm again, and Sam’s stomach twists with disgust but the promise of blood is too much and he grabs her wrist, sucking at it, hating himself.

“Check this out, Sammy,” Dean says the next morning, coming out of the bathroom with a towel slung low around his hips, spreading his arms out to the side and doing a little spin. Beads of water dot his skin. “Awesome, huh? Clean slate. Cas said—“

There’s a strange pounding in Sam’s ears. His vision has faded to black on the edges and all he can see is Dean’s skin, Dean’s freckled perfect smooth skin, and the red handprint standing out in stark relief on the curve of Dean’s shoulder. The print the angel gave him, Dean’s angel, Dean’s angel Castiel, the angel who Dean calls Cas with a little smile in his voice, the angel that saved Dean from Hell when Sam was fucking around, worthless and lost, even though it was Sam’s fault that Dean was there. Dean’s been remade, and his body is Cas’s creation. Dean’s still talking, but Sam hears none of it. It’s the demon blood, has to be, that’s pumping through him and demanding he grab Dean by the shoulders, cover that handprint with his own hand, throw Dean down, bruise, take take _take._

He lurches to his feet and taken one drunken step towards Dean before he registers the movement. Dean looks up at him, face open and guileless. Sam’s heartbeat is so loud. He doesn’t know how Dean can’t hear it and know what Sam wants to do to him.

Stumbling out of the motel, he hears Dean say behind him, a little bemused, “What the fuck, Sam?” but he can’t stop or turn back or he’ll be lost.

Maybe it makes him a coward.

He takes out his phone and calls Ruby.

“If you want,” Ruby says as Sam’s sliding into her, her hot blood on his lips again, clenching onto her hips so hard her vessel will have bruises, “you can pretend that I’m him.” He freezes.

“What?” he asks, stupidly. 

Ruby’s eyes glitter black up at him.

“If you want,” she repeats, “to pretend I’m him.” She shoves her hips up impatiently and Sam sinks further into her. “You can.”

“I don’t,” Sam starts, and then moans when Ruby clenches around him, all hot wet slippery heat. She lifts her hand up to Sam’s face, places two fingers over his eyes, draws his eyelids down until everything is black, until he can’t see her face. Her skin is smooth and damp with sweat against his.

His fingers curl around her hip and father back, until he can press against her hole, feeling it twitch against the pad of his finger. It’d be so easy to flip her over, drive in, keep his eyes shut and pretend that it’s his brother clenching around him, pretend that he’s taking what he’s always wanted.

“Do it, Sam,” Ruby whispers,

He hisses loud through his teeth and pushes her off and pulls himself out, stumbling backwards off the bed, tasting vomit in the back of his throat. “Fuck, _fuck_ —“

Ruby lies where he pushed her, splayed open, lips drawn up to show white teeth. She pushes herself up onto her elbows. “What’s wrong, Sammy?” she asks, and he wants to tell her that she can’t call him that, no one can call him that, it’s _Dean’s,_ but she continues on and it’s like he can’t get enough air even though his breath is racing and his chest is heaving with effort. “Not enough for you? Want me to struggle a bit? I bet Dean would put up a good fight if his baby brother tried to fuck him up the ass.” She runs a hand casually down her body, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. He stands there, stupid and mute. It’s as though his mind is struggling through molasses to understand what he’s hearing and feeling and seeing. His dick is still hard, though, and Ruby smiles. There’s no fondness in it.

“Think your big brother’s ever been fucked? I bet he’s so tight.” She reaches around herself, and Sam’s eyes are drawn to the movement of her fingers as she shoves them into her ass. Then she laughs, breathlessly, as she arches up, pressing her fingers in further. “Maybe not. Maybe that angel of his has been screwing him.”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He takes a step toward the bed towards her.

“Even an angel’s not stupid enough to waste that mouth.” Her breath is coming fast, and Sam’s blinded with rage at the thought that she’s daring to imagine his brother’s mouth on her, on Castiel, that she’ s getting off on thoughts of Dean. He could kill her, right now, if he wanted to. The demon blood is racing through his veins and he could do anything, he could do fucking anything, he could snap her white neck, send her back to Hell, but she’s still talking, won’t shut up. “That pretty cocksucking mouth on your brother, Sam, _fuck._ I bet it’s stretched around that angel’s dick right now, bet he’s down Dean’s throat,” and Ruby lets out a long, low groan, tossing her head to one side.

“Bitch,” Sam gasps. “Shut up, shut—“

Ruby’s panting now, and Sam’s hand is on himself, stroking his cock to her words because he can’t help it, it’s Dean and when it comes to Dean he’s weak like he’s always been. “He’d be such a slut for you, Sam,” she hisses as she plays with herself, thighs wet and slick, fingers glistening in the lamplight, “and he’d take it for you, he’d take it so _pretty_ , you could mark him up, hold him down and bruise him and make him bleed and he’d take it, he’d fucking take it—” and Sam can’t help it, he’s shaking apart and coming all over her white flesh and his thoughts are full of nothing but _Dean Dean Dean._

He collapses over her, onto the bed, barely managing not to sink to his knees, and she cradles his head on her breast. Her body is soft, relaxed. When she speaks again, her voice is gentle instead of cruel.

“He distracts you too much.” Her hands smooth over his heaving sides, like he’s a frightened horse.

He wants to tell her, but he’s my brother, but the words won’t come.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers into his hair, rocking him in her arms. Sam clutches to her and feels like he’s drowning. “It’s going to be okay, Sam.”

Sam staggers on, blindly, through the next few weeks, as Dean finds out about Ruby, as Dean treats him with growing suspicion and anger and slips slowly through Sam’s fingers. Every word that Dean throws in his face feels like cold dark waves crashing over his head, dragging him down, and Ruby’s always there to pick him up with blood and promises of power. 

He watches Dean but doesn’t touch. Learns how to lie to him.

When Sam finally breaks, Dean does, too.

He kills Samhain two weeks later, and even though it’d hurt, it felt so good, like stretching an unused muscle. He doesn’t regret doing it, but he regrets the way it makes Dean look at him.

There’s an angel stench in their hotel room from Uriel and the smell of it, the affront of it, is making Sam’s powers unstable; he’s developing a pounding headache and even though he feels like he should be frightened by Uriel’s threats, all he feels is a blinding rage. When Dean returns to the room smelling like his angel, it’s almost too much. 

Knowing, somehow, that _something_ is going to happen, if he doesn’t leave now it’s going to happen and Sam will never be strong enough to stop it, he moves to the door. Dean steps in front of him, between him and safety, and puts a hand on his chest. Leaves it there, and looks up at Sam, the warmth of his palm sinking into Sam’s skin.

He had thought Dean didn’t notice Sam watching him, coveting him. Stupid. Dean’s had a hunter’s instincts for over twenty years. 

Dean knows what it feels like, being hunted.

“Would it help?” Dean asks after a long moment of silence, voice not shaking at all but his eyes large, white-rimmed and scared. “If I—if we. I know you feel like, like you need to go to her. But if—“ He swallows, and Sam’s eyes are drawn to the motion of Dean’s throat. “I’ve seen you looking at me. You can. If you need to. I—I want you to.”

Sam knows that Dean is lying. His body is stiff, ready to run, and Sam can feel Dean’s hand trembling. But he’s _offering._ Sacrificing himself, again. Sam feels a great, crushing despair settle over him.

“Sam, please. Let me help you. You’re my _brother_.”

It’s as though he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, looking over a dark precipice. He can’t see the bottom. He teeters there for a long, long moment. Dean’s green eyes are bright against his pale face, his hand warm, promising.

“Sammy.”

He falls.

Ruby is right, of course. When he practices with her now, he’s more focused and alert. He can accomplish so much more this way. Castiel still comes around, but every time he does, Dean tells him earnestly that they’re okay, that Sam is doing well. Cas knows better, he’s a fucking angel, but he just stares at Dean with sad eyes before leaving without a word.

She’s right about other things, too. Dean bruises and begs and takes it so prettily, hands clenched around Sam’s arms and eyes fluttered closed, red mouth open and gasping as Sam pushes into him, fucking him with selfish and single-minded purpose. He never speaks, but afterward he gathers Sam into his arms and holds him against his shuddering body, combing his fingers through Sam’s hair. 

“It’s okay, Sammy.” His voice is hoarse, just the ghost of a whisper. He’s staring at the wall; he doesn’t look Sam in the eyes, anymore. “It’s okay.”

Sam covers the red print on Dean’s shoulder with his own hand, thumb stroking Dean’s damp skin absentmindedly, and doesn’t bother correcting him. It’s not okay.

It’s _perfect._


End file.
